


A Demon? On My Earth? It's More Likely Than You Think.

by Nwar



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Aziraphale, Aziraphale Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Aziraphale doesn't know Crowley is a demon AU, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid Character, Humor, M/M, Other, aziraphale says fuck, communication is very important and they have zero of it, idiot husbands, idiot plot, incompetent immortal beings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nwar/pseuds/Nwar
Summary: Oh, no! Gabriel has just informed Aziraphale that a DEMON has been living on earth to battle him! What a travesty. Aziraphale will have to ask his best friend and perfectly normal human immortal, Crowley, if he’s seen any demonic activity.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 193





	1. Preface: Golgotha, 33 AD

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale voice: oh, good lord

Aziraphale, for his angelic part, did not look too closely at it. He’d met Crowley at the hanging of Jesus, who, bless his heart, was a bit of a sanctimonious prick about some things. Aziraphale didn’t like him a bit, but still, tragic to be all hung up like that.  
“What could he have said that made everyone so upset?” A voice had come from behind him. Aziraphale was squinting against the setting sun and the sand blown up by the winds of Golgotha.  
Aziraphale turned away from the gruesome spectacle to see a man— no, a woman— no, maybe a man again. Someone, with beautiful serpent’s eyes, looking askance at him. “Oh, um, be kind to one another.”  
The person in the lovely black headdress raised their eyebrows in acknowledgement as they looked back toward the crucifix. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”  
“Did you know him?” Aziraphale asked, considering that the person by his side, dressed all in black, may be a mourner.  
“Oh, briefly. I traveled with him, some. Nice enough chap, a bit… preachy.”  
“Well, not to speak ill of the dead,” Aziraphale looked back at the cross. “Or dying, but he was a tad… sanctimonious.”  
“Self-righteous,” the mourner agreed.  
“Moralizing.”  
“A bit of a prick.”  
Aziraphale paused. “Yes, quite so. Sorry, what did you say your name was?”  
“I didn’t,” they stuck out their hand to Aziraphale. “Crowley. Are you hungry?”  
Aziraphale felt a tad off. Well, here was this handsome, or maybe beautiful, scratch that— definitely beautiful, stranger who spoke to him like a familiar. He didn’t quite know what to do with it.  
Really, though, he hadn’t eaten since the measly offering of unrisen bread that morning and his stomach was dangerously close to growling— and that was inappropriate at a public torture session.  
The stranger didn’t wait for his response. “I know a place that has excellent falafel.”  
Aziraphale left the priggish carpenter on the cross and followed his friend bearing falafel recommendations.  
After that fateful encounter, he and Crowley met more times, every few years or so. After the second delicious helping of hummus, Aziraphale did eventually work up the nerve to ask the gender of his new friend. Crowley's response, “whatever I feel like being,” was unsatisfying. “Who would you marry, then,” Aziraphale had insisted. “Whatever I can trick into having me,” Crowley grinned wolfishly. Eventually, they settled on calling Crowley a he unless she happened to object that day.  
As they approached a quarter century of friendship, Aziraphale started growing nervous. What if his new companion realized he wasn’t aging? What if he thought he was not a holy being, but a cursed one? What if Crowley sent him to be crucified on belief of (heaven spare the thought) demonic possession? Surely, with such unusual eyes, Crowley would be no stranger to uneducated persecution, but what if…?  
Aziraphale picked at his kibbe anxiously when a sweeping of black robes flung itself into the seat opposite him. Crowley pulled back his hood to show him his big grin.  
“Aziraphale! What a surprise to see you here!”  
“Crowley, to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
“Oh I was just in town, doing this or that. Market in Samarra coming up.”  
Aziraphale smiled at his companion, who cheekily stole a piece of pita off his plate, before remembering his anxiety.  
“Right, er,” Aziraphale started. He wanted to head this off at the pass— just tell Crowley straight out that he was an angel, and that’s why he looked the same, and be not afraid, the whole bit. But Crowley looked up at him, with those wide eyes and that sweet smile, and Aziraphale realized that in the 25 years they’d known each other, Crowley hadn’t aged either. Not a streak of gray in that golden red hair, not a new line or liver spot on his tanned skin.  
And Aziraphale, in the manner of every procrastinating, anxious avoider, decided to ignore the whole deal. Don’t ask, don’t tell. If Crowley wasn’t going to come out and say why he hadn’t aged, neither would Aziraphale, and wondering why would only make his stomach hurt. Better to push it down with some more pita.  
And thus began a friendship of, give or take, 2000 years.


	2. London, 2008

Aziraphale pulled on a stray thread on his jacket sleeve in anticipation as he raptly watched the chef slice his sushi roll. He thanked the chef in Japanese, a result of tutoring from many waiters over years of butchering food names in shokudos across London.  
He felt the slight shift in the air, the airplane-ear-pop sensation that alerted him to another angel. “Hello, Aziraphale.” Gabriel was dressed in his typical greyscale, slightly out-of-touch fashion. The last time he’d visited earth had been the early nineties, and it showed.  
“Gabriel,” Aziraphale greeted. It always made him nervous when Gabriel checked in. Like driving in traffic next to a cop. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
“Well, I have just received word that things are afoot on earth,” Gabriel smiled and spread his hands like a magician. “The apocalypse is coming!”  
Aziraphale’s stomach tightened at Gabriel’s Christmas-morning excitement. “The apocalypse?”  
“Yes, the demon representative on earth— hell’s equivalent for you, I suppose— has just been delivered the antichrist, who will be bringing about the end of earth.”  
Aziraphale was rocked by this. He tried not to let on his face. It was really better not to let your boss know that you were entirely unaware of a task— especially if that task was to defend earth against a demon sent by hell to corrupt humanity.  
“I was, ah, I was under the impression I’d be on earth— em, alone.” Aziraphale said carefully. “This demon has come to bring the antichrist?”  
Gabriel squinted at him in confusion. Uh-oh. “No, no, Aziraphale— this demon has been on earth since the beginning. You didn’t know?”  
“Oh! Oh, yes,” Aziraphale exhaled quickly. “That demon, yes. I thought you meant another one. Yes I’ve been keeping a close eye on him.”  
Gabriel nodded, placated. “Well, tighten that surveillance— he’s got the antichrist now, and I’m sure he’ll be asserting his influence. Only eleven years now until the great battle.”  
Aziraphale didn’t have to say anything for Gabriel to sigh and explain like a fussy toddler, “The great battle! Between heaven and hell! We shall come out victorious.”  
With that, Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder and disappeared as quickly as he’d come. Gabriel always made him feel like he was in a gym where everyone else seemed to know what they were doing.  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said into his phone as soon as he returned to the bookstore. “Are you available tonight?”  
“Always, sweeting. What’s the matter?”  
Aziraphale bit his lip. “Please just come, Crowley.”  
“Well that’s not how I—” Aziraphale didn’t hear Crowley’s response as he hung up the receiver in his anxious distraction. He fretted around the shop for an hour, then settled down into an armchair to really worry. He was about to pull out a final stretch of agonizing around six when Crowley finally came in the door.  
“Crowley, I have to tell you something,” Aziraphale burst out as soon as those leather boots crossed the threshold.  
“Buy a boy a drink first,” Crowley sneered. “What’s wrong, gorgeous?”  
Aziraphale nodded, still distracted. He turned around to the desk to use his body to hide miracling up the wine from the cellar and two glasses. He paused, and then adding a bottle of whiskey for good measure.  
Crowley selected a highball and poured himself a few fingers. He smiled at Aziraphale, and he barely noticed the excited flutter that beautiful grin always inspired over the tumultuous confusion already in his stomach.  
“Crowley, dear boy there’s— there’s something I’ve been hiding from you,” Aziraphale said, running his fingers flutteringly around his wine glass. “Since— since we’ve met, actually.”  
“Go on,” Crowley said, leaning forward on the couch.  
“Well it’s that I— I mean, you know I’ve always—” Aziraphale huffed in frustration.  
“I promise I won’t be alarmed by any confession you make, beautiful,” Crowley said eagerly.  
“Your pet names aren’t helping at the moment,” Aziraphale snapped without heat.  
“I’m sorry, sorry,” Crowley held out his hands in supplication, but the grin on his face betrayed him. “I’ll let you go on.”  
“Have you ever— considered that fact that we’ve been friends for two thousand years now, and that I’m not... “ Aziraphale waved his hand. “Deceased?”  
Crowley seemed thrown by this turn in the conversation. “I assumed for the same reason I’m not. We’ve had each other this whole time.”  
“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, growing more exasperated. “But I haven’t aged or changed at all!”  
“Why change— you can’t improve on perfection.”  
“You’re missing the— oh, for f— for heavenly goodness, I am—” Aziraphale said with difficulty.  
“You are?” Crowley moved closer to Aziraphale in the armchair, scooting to the very edge of the couch.  
“I, the truth is that I am—”  
“Oh I am, too, darling, just say it,” Crowley pleaded.  
“I am an _angel!_” Aziraphale finally blurted.  
Crowley froze.  
There was a beat of silence.  
“Bollocks,” Crowley said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [image of John Mulaney with my username written over the face] and I will pepper in some dashes to show the pauses in speech


	3. London, 2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some gendered language about genitals, but it's very mild and Aziraphale does his very best so please don't be hard on him

Aziraphale gasped. “Excuse me?”   
“I didn’t— that’s not what I thought you were going to tell me.”   
Aziraphale shook his head. This is not at all how he saw this conversation. His expectations were low, but heavenly goodness! “Are you not hearing correctly, dear boy? I am an angel, a holy being, an inhuman—”  
“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Crowley said, waving his hand to smack that holier-than-thou attitude out of the air. “And that’s great and all, great, good for you, very happy for your— angelness.”  
Aziraphale sat up straighter in his seat with indignation.   
“But here’s the thing, angel, I thought you— were going to say something else.”   
Aziraphale was momentarily distracted from his task of expressing to Crowley how very serious it was that he was a principality. “What did you think I was going to say?”   
Crowley moved from where he’d been agitatedly pulling random books off the shelf. He looked down at Aziraphale in his armchair for a moment, and just as the angel was about to ask again, he kneeled by the side.   
“Angel, I thought you were going to— well, we’ve known each other for two thousand years now.”   
“Yes,” Aziraphale said. He was at a loss for what exactly else he should be saying.   
“And you know I’ve always been a bit more comfortable talking to you than any human.”   
“Well, I am a being of love,” Aziraphale said, a tad smugly.   
“And I— I mean, we’ve been together this long.” Crowley seemed to be growing more recalcitrant as he kept talking. Aziraphale just raised his eyebrows.   
“I just thought maybe you’d be asking— wanting to— I— well, honestly, I thought you were going to say we should be together in a different sense.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, who bore a nonplussed look. “You and me to the end of the earth and all that.”   
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed.   
“Oh?” Crowley said hopefully.   
“That was the other thing I wanted to tell you!”   
Crowley’s head smacked into Aziraphale’s knee in defeat. “What?” He muffled into the angel’s pant leg.  
“The earth is ending in eleven years! That’s why I called you!”  
Crowley stared up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale stared back at him, eyes still wide with remembrance and confusion.   
“I really do need more whiskey,” Crowley sighed, getting off his knees and going to the sidebar.   
“You seem to be a bit slow today,” Aziraphale said in exasperation. “I told you I’m an angel, and you just go on about how long you’ve known me and all, then I tell you the world will be ending, literally ending! And you just say you need a drink! Crowley, do you even listen when I speak?”   
“Try not to, but things slip through,” He muttered, and continued louder; “I already knew the world was ending. It’s ending shortly after the eleventh birthday of the antichrist.”   
Aziraphale physically leaned back in his chair with the impact of that statement. “How could you possibly know that?”   
Crowley snorted. “Because I delivered the little snot.”   
Aziraphale took a moment to process that. “So that would mean you’re—”  
“Yes,” Crowley said sadly, seeing any possibility of getting in the angel’s pants retreating in the distance.   
“I— I didn’t mean to make any assumptions, but after that first meeting I, I,” Aziraphale seemed at an unusual loss for words.   
“I’m sorry to tell you you assumed right,” Crowley said. He ran a hand through his shoulder length hair.   
“So you really are— or I mean, you have—” Aziraphale looked uncomfortable. He made a vague gesture to the area of his lap. “The… equipment required to deliver a baby?”   
Crowley started laughing. Aziraphale transitioned to confusion to irritation the longer the laughter went on, and it went on for quite a while.   
“Aziraphale,” Crowley wheezed. “Aziraphale I didn’t _ deliver _ the baby, I just mean I handed it over.”   
“Oh!” Aziraphale started giggling himself.   
“I don’t have any parts, lady or otherwise,” Crowley continued, still out of breath from laughing. “You know, I need to make an effort, just like you.”   
Aziraphale’s laugh petered out. “What do you mean, just like me?”   
“Oh, ah,” Crowley started, suddenly very much preoccupied with his new glass of whiskey.   
“And why were you delivering the antichrist, Crowley?” Aziraphale said warily.  
“See, um,” Crowley said. “It’s that, uh, you— well, I mean you know how nervous you were to… and I just, well, I mean, we never said anything—”   
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in his bit-of-a-bastard, mob-threatening, I’ll-take-you-over-me-knee warning voice.   
“I’m a demon,” Crowley blurted out.   
Aziraphale stared hard at him. Then he turned his eyes heavenward and took a deep breath.   
“For fuck’s sake, Crowley.”


	4. London, 2019

What followed the events of that night, a pantheon of miscommunication and rattled expectations, was a story I’m sure you’re all familiar with. Angel meets demon, demon loves angel, angel has funny feelings around the demon in a sensible nanny heeled oxfords, demon and angel live happily in incompetence until the day the antichrist is revealed, and finally culminates in one big mischief pulled upon the eternal offices of heaven and hell.   
The only difference, perhaps, is a significant uptick in quarreling and confusion as each thwarts the others efforts for the first time in their long relationship which was previously founded solely on food and alcohol consumption.   
It ends in a garden.   
As Adam chases Dog, and Anathema burns her book, and Sergeant Shadwell does naughty things to a reformed naughty woman, Aziraphale and Crowley sit in the Ritz and drink.   
“Crowley, I have a question,” Aziraphale said, spooning delicately at his layer cake.   
“Of course you do,” Crowley said without menace. He was pulling apart the opposite side of the layer cake, pulling pieces off with his fork and mashing them into the tablecloth with much enjoyment.   
“Eleven years ago, when we were in my bookshop,” Aziraphale wondered, “What, exactly, did you think I was going to tell you?”   
“You did sound rather urgent on the phone,” Crowley agreed. “But a better question is, what did you think I was, all those years?”   
Aziraphale blushed. “I, I simply-- I didn’t look too closely. I thought,” Aziraphale paused here. He directed his gaze away from the piano player toward Crowley, who was already looking his way. “I thought, I am so lucky to have a companion with whom to pass the years. I thought I ought not look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.”   
Crowley smiled gently. “Yes, that does sound like the teachings of heaven. If you enjoy anything, just feel guilty and don’t ask why.”   
Aziraphale giggled. Crowley joined in, and soon they were snorting rather loudly for the refined dining room.   
“Alright, angel,” Crowley sighed as the last laugh bubbled out of him. “I’ll tell you. When you brought me there that night, sounding nervous as all be all,” Crowley shifted forward so that he was higher in his chair and leaning toward Aziraphale. “I thought you were going to say you were in love with me.”   
Aziraphale stared at him. His face was hard to read, but Crowley could see he wasn’t upset at least. Aziraphale’s mouth opened on a sweet breath, and the dining room fell silent. Not just quiet, but truly, unnaturally silent.   
Both parties looked away from each other’s eyes for a moment to see that the dining room was frozen.   
Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. “I didn’t do that.”   
Aziraphale looked down sheepishly, before raising his gaze back up to Crowley. “You stopped time for me-- I mean, for everyone,”   
“For you,” Crowley confirmed nonchalantly.   
Aziraphale’s smile was blinding. “So I thought I’d stop time to give you a little privacy for, for this,” Aziraphale said quickly, leaning over the table to place a soft kiss on Crowley’s lips.   
Crowley was doing a wonderful impression of a statue until Aziraphale started pulling away, at which point his hand came up to hold his cheek.   
They smiled at each other for a long moment, held in a glow of excitement, and affection, and anticipation of a thousand more years together.   
The dining room started moving again, seconds ticking by on the clock, cars outside once more rumbling through central London.   
But two immortals, made almost entirely of confusion, incompetence, and miscommunication, sat peacefully at rest at a table in the Ritz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [whips] so soft [nae naes] for these lovely dumbasses [milly rocks, sobbing]


	5. NSFW Epilogue: Jesus Fucking Christ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tweet I saw from the lovely ThePartySparkle on Twitter, I had to make this epilogue that, although not particularly relevant to the story, really emphasizes the dumbassery of our subjects. Please enjoy and this starts out a bit explicit, so fair warning. This chapter sponsored by Twitter and Kum and Go gas stations.

Crowley felt a little silly with his mouth full of cock. Like, was he doing it right? Was he sucking cock like a normal person? Or would they look back on this first experience and laugh at how inexperienced they both were and how young(er) Crowley was a naive little idiot?   
“Oh holy fucking-- that is amazing, what you’re doing with the-- tongue, oh,” Aziraphale moaned from above him.   
Crowley would have smiled in satisfaction and relief if his mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied.   
But then came the cry above him.   
Aziraphale, leaned luxuriantly on the edge of his own study desk, placed his hand on the back of Crowley’s head, and said, quite loudly, “Oh Jesus!”   
Crowley paused. “Oh, please, please, please don’t stop,” Aziraphale pleaded, his hips twitching as he pressed himself harder against the desk and squirmed.   
Crowley didn’t stop. But the thing is, neither did Aziraphale. Aziraphale, in his entire distraction, kept on saying it.   
“Oh fuck, Jesus, please,” He said. Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in indignation even as he carefully forced the angel past his uvula. “So good, so, so, good, ah, Jesus!”  
Crowley was getting rather properly angry now. The angel came in his mouth and he didn’t even have the presence of mind to savor it, he was so miffed.   
The angel dragged him up to thoroughly kiss him, which he grudgingly enjoyed (one doesn’t wait 2000 years for someone and then just not enjoy it). However, Crowley soon made his excuses and left.   
He could tell Aziraphale looked concerned and anxious-- to just dash out of their inaugural love making session? To give only a little blowie and then run for the car? To slurp and slam the door? But Crowley didn’t care to be charitable to the angel at the moment.   
The demon started driving, just to clear his mind, and eventually, by subconscious choice, ended up in Tadfield again.   
He stopped by Anathema’s cottage.   
Anathema, lovely witch that she was, brewed him some tea and sat with him.   
“You can tell me what’s going on in that great big immortal brain of yours,” Anathema said, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead.   
“I don’t know that you’d understand,” Crowley said miserably. “You have Newt,” he gestured to the aforementioned human who was standing in the doorway.   
“So it’s problems with Aziraphale, then?”   
Crowley sighed. “Well honestly-- it’s problems in the bedroom.”   
Newt choked on the cup of tea he’d just poured.   
“What uh-- what is going on?”   
Crowley flung himself down on the table, flopping his head down on his arms. “I love him, but I think he’s still hung up on someone else.”   
“Well,” Newt cleared his throat. Anathema and Crowley looked up at him in surprise. Newt himself looked a bit startled that he’d spoken. “I had a friend at boarding school-- Barnaby--,”   
“I don’t think he needs to hear about that, dear,” Anathema effectively quieted him. “Go on and tell us, Crowley.”   
“He said someone else’s name during sex!”   
Anathema’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “So you two really were…?”  
“No! This was our first time!”  
Anathema and Newt exchanged a look over the dramatically sprawled Crowley who was sliding further and further out of the kitchen chair.   
“He said someone else’s name during the first time you… did it?” Newt inquired awkwardly.   
“Yes, I mean-- I know he knew the bloke, I mean, we even met-- we sort of met through him,” Crowley struggled to get out.   
“Oh goodness,” Anathema said. She looked around, as if trying to find a book to magically give her the answers.   
“I didn’t even know he was that close to Jesus!” Crowley wailed.   
Another look exchanged over Crowley’s head. “Pardon?” Anathema asked.  
Crowley cleared his throat and looked at her, as if irritated she hadn’t been paying attention this whole time. “Jesus Christ, we met in Golgotha, at the hanging of Jesus. It seemed like he didn’t like him at the time but I suppose he did because he,” Crowley struggled against the sob bubbling up in his throat. “He said ‘Jesus’ over and over during sex! Not even just saying it once, he said it the whole time, like he didn’t even know I was there!” Crowley was genuinely crying now, tears streaming from his slitted demonic eyes.   
Anathema looked at Newt. Newt looked at Anathema. They both looked at Crowley.   
“Uh, what?”   
After a bit more arguing and cajoling and comforting, Crowley was finally convinced that this was a very normal occurrence, and that Aziraphale had not in fact slept with the messiah, and that everything would be okay, and that he really should go back to the bookshop now to apologize for his little cum-and-go abandonment.   
I’d like to say this story has a happy ending, and it does end with one very sweet demon and one very devious angel in love and commitment to each other. But I cannot in any level of honesty say that their communication skills really improved, and to this very day, Crowley still will not tell Aziraphale what he thought he was before his angelic status was revealed, nor will Aziraphale tell Crowley why precisely he thought the demon was immortal. Some secrets, as they say, are better left untouched.


End file.
